Undead God: I Can Extract Everything - Chapter 448 - : 250 Hope_2

The cycle of life is not infinite—except, perhaps, for Elijah.At 122 years old, Elijah lived a long and successful life—until he woke up as someone entirely new. Now, an anomaly in a mysterious kingdom sustained by magic, he faces questions about his place in a world that doesn't defy the laws of nature, but take them to an entirely new level.For over six millennia, this isolated realm of 300,000 citizens has thrived, its survival bound to the magic that nurtures its air, water, and food. Yet, some whisper that a kingdom refusing to expand is doomed to fall. How, then, has this kingdom endured?As Elijah uncovers ancient secrets, dives into treacherous cave systems, and grapples with the fatal flaws of magic, he learns the truth about existence itself—forces that shaped the cosmos. New alliances rise to confront an ancient plague, and the kingdom's delicate balance teeters on the edge of collapse.In this world, the vibrant hues of freedom and potential are mere illusions, like sunlight filtered through stained glass. Elijah must decide whether to shatter the illusion—or embrace it.————This novel goes into great detail about the ways of the people and how it will differ from the suspected outside world. What seems like a population of people who do not have much knowledge, show how they found their way by “feeling”, or by anecdotal(personal) evidence.

The Fu family in Liushan Village has had boys for generations, and was so poor that only boys were left, and they finally hoped for a daughter. As soon as the little girl was born, the grandmother who was almost dead was so happy that she recovered from her illness; as soon as she went out to pick up things and found her hands were soft, all the birds and animals flying in the sky, swimming in the water, and running in the mountains fell in front of her, like a pie falling .

I thought that picking up gold would be powerful enough, but I didn’t expect to find a husband on the way, who is still quite a powerful person.

Ever since she was born in Fujia, it has been smooth and smooth, and she has never failed to do business and build a house. The family members treat her dearly and spoil her to death.

A dangerous neon-lit city in a shattered post-war world.

The wilderness outside the city was wild and uncontrolled, the superhuman roamed beneath the cover of the night’s rain, xenomorphs prowled the streets.

Oligarchic company, extraordinary program, prosthetic limbs, spiritual network, street gangs.

Gu He only desire after transmigrating was to become a salted fish. But even if you wanted to, you couldn’t.

- Description from Novelupdates

“Villains aren’t born, they’re made...blah...blah...”Cute quote. Stick it on your Tumblr header next to your anime pfp.You boys love your villain stories, don’t you?You want carnage. Chaos. Control. You want a dark throne, a cold smirk, and a woman kneeling at your feet begging for mercy.But you?You don’t want to lift a damn finger.You’ll cheer for the villain as he kills a god, but cry when he gets betrayed.You call it “plot armor” when the hero survives—but call it “art” when the villain does the impossible.You’re not fans of villains.You’re fetishists.You want the violence, but not the silence after it.You want domination, but not the burden of being hated.You want power, but only if the story forgives you for it.You don’t read these stories to understand evil.You read them because you think you're too good to win the normal way.“Villains don’t play fair.”Exactly. That’s why you love them.Because you wouldn’t last a day in a world where strength mattered and excuses didn’t.You don’t want a villain’s life.You want his results.You want to watch him burn the world for a woman.But you’d cry if a girl left you on read.So tell me—What exactly are you rooting for?At least unlike you, I support heroes—the ones with boobs.You know the type.Tits squeezed into latex, thighs tight in spandex, preaching virtue with cum-drunk eyes the moment they fall into my arms but always end up screaming my name instead.She flies above cities, saving lives like it’s her job.But at night? She crashes into my arms, trembling, moaning, clawing at my back like I’m the only real thing she’s ever touched.Her cape drops before her guard does.But I don't need to tear it off.She hands it over herself—bit by bit, kiss by kiss, lie by beautiful lie.You ever felt a heroine's breath hitch in your ear as she begs you to stop pretending you're the bad guy?Ever watched the symbol of hope ride you like you're the last man left after the world ended?That's not conquest.That’s devotion, baby.Unfiltered. Undeniable.And the irony?They fall the hardest.Because no villain ever tried to understand them. No hero ever dared to see past the shine and into the ache beneath.But I do.I whisper into the cracks of their perfection.I plant kisses where they hide their pain.I fuck them where they forget to wear their strength.And when they break—when their moans turn to prayers, when their strength melts into submission—That’s when I rise.I’m not just some brooding misfit out for revenge, or a misunderstood loner sitting around hoping for a shot at redemption.I’m not a villain.I’m the SUPERVILLAIN—the kind your heroines moan for when the cameras are off and the capes are crumpled on my floor.